


Bittersweet

by Hunter_inthe_tardis



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Baking, Candles, Christmas, F/M, Fluff, Holidays, Reader Insert, SPN - Freeform, Supernatural - Freeform, supernatural Christmas, supernatural angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-23
Updated: 2015-12-23
Packaged: 2018-05-08 15:00:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5502056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hunter_inthe_tardis/pseuds/Hunter_inthe_tardis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's your first christmas after losing your family. Human!Castiel is staying with you after Dean kicks him out of the bunker, and the two of you become exactly what you both need.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bittersweet

**Author's Note:**

> This was my submission to the SPN Writer's Challenge on Tumblr for December 2015.

“Y/N, don’t you have plans for Christmas?” Deep blue eyes stared at you questioningly, accompanying the slight tilt to the head. 

“No, Cas. Usually you spend Christmas with family and old friends but I don’t really have anyone to celebrate with anymore.” You didn’t mean it to come out so pitiful, but it was true, and you had been feeling the loss of your family especially hard lately. Cas and the Winchesters had come in time to save you, but not before monsters had killed the rest of your family. You had moved and cut ties with most of your friends after your family died. It was too hard to be around them, knowing they were thinking of what had happened. All the books and experts say that you should lean on those you care for when times get tough, but fuck those books. You couldn’t handle it yet. So, you moved three states away and lucked into a job at a conjoined bakery and used bookstore. The elderly hippy couple that owned it also let you rent one of the apartments above the stores. 

The former angel had been staying with you the past few weeks. When he first showed up one afternoon in the bookstore, looking adorably scruffy in baggy pants, a t-shirt and jacket, you almost told him to get lost. Though you were eternally grateful to the angel and his friends for saving you, they were also a reminder of what you had been through. Seeing him without his customary trench coat and tie had made you rethink your initial reaction, though. It was clear he had fallen on hard times as well; there was something more vulnerable and timid about him. 

You were damaged but not cruel, so invited him up to your apartment, grabbing some coffee and cheese and ham croissants on your way up. At first you worried that Cas wouldn’t eat with you, being an angel, but you were surprised when he eagerly dug into the food and downed the coffee. He then told you about becoming human. He stated, “I guess you’d call this the short version…” and explained what had befallen heaven and his recent experience of being unceremoniously kicked out of the bunker by Dean. Since then, Cas had been sleeping on your couch, keeping you company once you got off work. You grew accustomed to him being there and looked forward to your evenings together. He was naïve but caring, and his presence was a warm comfort in your life

And so, Christmas Eve was nearly upon you. You had just returned from work on the 22nd to find Castiel glued to the television. He had been devouring your Netflix account and had moved on to watching TV cuts of Christmas movies, and had eagerly watched the entire Harry Potter marathon on ABC. So you were surprised to see him watching the news channel. 

“Its probably good you’re not traveling anywhere then,” Cas misses your pity-party statement entirely, “they’ve just issued a storm warning. High winds and more rain. They are predicting power outages and flooding. They also said that they’ve spotted Santa Claus readying his sleigh for Christmas Eve, which is a blatant lie, so I’m not sure if I believe their weather predictions.”

Peeking out the window you see that the rain has picked up and the wind is whipping the street banners around. You walk back to the couch and plop down next to Cas. “Well, I think they might be right on the weather. You know, reporting on Santa is just a tradition most news stations due to collaborate with parents on getting kids to believe in him.” 

Cas looks at you seriously for a moment and then begins “Yes, well the myth of Santa actually originated as-“ He when he notices tears gathering in your eyes.  
“Y/N, did I say something? I’m sorry if I-“

“No, Cas. It’s not you. This is just my first Christmas without my family. My mom loved it, she always insisted the whole family come home and celebrate with her and she continued to insist that we hang stockings for Santa, even when my siblings and I were way too old to believe. When I was growing up, the whole month was basically dedicated to the holiday, crafting gifts, decorating, singing carols; we used to spend a whole weekend making candy and baking cookies. This is just hard.”

The former angel reaches out, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into his chest. Resting his chin on the top of your head he whispers, “I’m so sorry. I still learning how humans handle grief.” Castiel’s hands trace up and down your back. The comfort of his arms around you let’s you finally let down your walls and cry. Sobbing into Cas’s chest you lose track of time and eventually fall asleep.

 

Sometime later you wake up and find yourself alone on the couch with the afghan pulled over you. Sitting up you realize you’ve slept the afternoon away and it is now dark outside, and in your apartment. The TV is off as well. The power must have gone out during the storm. You hear noises coming from the small kitchen and go to investigate what Cas is getting into. Entering the kitchen, you can barely see his form next to the counter. 

“What are you up to?” You ask leaning on the door jam.

“I wanted to try to make you feel better. You said your mom made cookies. I noticed you had an old cookbook on your counter top and I figured it must have been your mom’s. I flipped it open to the most worn page, and it was a cookie recipe.”

“I guess you’ve learned some sleuthing from Sam and Dean, huh?”

“I don’t have my grace to read minds anymore, so I had to result to more… human methods.”

The image of Cas trying to make your mom’s cookies, is simultaneously heartwarming and heartbreaking. Wishing you could see what the handsome man looks like covered in cookie dough and out of his element, you move to the cupboard under the sink. “How far did you get before the power went out?” You ask while reaching around blindly until you find the bucket with the flashlight. 

“I think I’m nearly done, I just had to add the oatmeal and chocolate chips. The power just went out. That’s probably what woke you.”

You flip the flashlight on, accidentally blinding Cas momentarily, making him squint and pull his hands up over his face. You giggle as you catch a glimpse of the front of his shirt splattered in cookie dough. 

“I have candles in one of these drawers. That will at least let us see what’s happening here. You look like you might have murdered cookie monster though.”

“I don’t believe I’ve ever come across a cookie monster. Are they very dangerous?”

“Cas it’s a ref-“

“I’m joking, Y/N. I’ve been watching daytime television, you forget. I’ve actually learned quite a lot about manners and social cues from Sesame Street. It’s very informative.”

You dump some of the tea lights from the bag out on the counter, digging around in the bottom of the bag to find the lighter. You light one candle and hand it to Cas gesturing to the others on the counter. He begins lighting candles for the kitchen while you head to the living room lighting the decorative candles and placing tea lights on the coffee table. Soon your apartment is filled with a soft glow. 

Returning to the kitchen, you shine the flashlight into the bowl. Surprisingly, the dough seems the right consistence and is just missing the chocolate chips and oatmeal. “Well, we can finish the dough, but I’m not sure how we’re going to cook them.”

You glance up at Cas and notice how nicely the candlelight illuminates his jawline, and shines in his blue eyes. He stares down at you for a moment, eyes searching yours. “You know, humans cooked over open flame for thousands of years.”

“Are you suggesting we try to use the candles to make these?!”

“Yes…” He suddenly looks unsure. You were going to suggest just placing the cookie dough in the fridge and hoping the power came on before the glorified cooler warmed up too much, but Cas seemed so bent on finishing the project that you couldn’t deny him, and it sounded silly and fun, which was something you hadn’t really let yourself experience in awhile. 

“Alright,” you searched your brain for how to hold a cookie pan over the candles “I think I have a small, flat cast iron somewhere, we could use that.” 

You locate the pan while Cas finishes the dough. You plop some dough onto the pan and gather some of the tea lights together and take turns holding the pan over the circle of flame. You tell Cas funny holiday stories about your family and he tells you stories about Dean having too much eggnog and getting a stomachache before he could get drunk, and catching Sam in his secret yearly viewing of Love Actually. You’re actually smiling for the first time in months.  
When the cookie is seems done you grab a spoon and offer Cas the first bite. 

“No. This is your family tradition.” He offers it back.

“Cas, you’re the chef here, you have to try it first, or it might be terrible, or poison,” you smile at him. He acquiesces and take the first bite, eyes closing when the cookie hits his mouth, “This is so good! Now you!” He hands the spoon back.

You scoop up a piece of the cookie. It’s a little doughier than normal, but when you taste it the salty sweet chewiness of warm chocolate chip oatmeal reminds you so strongly of home you feel like you’re there. “Oh my god!” You open your eyes to find them stinging with tears again. 

“Y/N, are you alright, I’m sorry if-“ you shush him with a finger to his chapped lips. 

“No Cas, its perfect. These are good tears. Thank you.”

“I needed you to have this.” His thumb brushes along your cheekbone, while his fingers slide into the hair behind your ear. He pulls your face towards him as he leans over, pressing his lips to your gently.


End file.
